


The Responsible Use of Magics of Eld

by Shortcake



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: 5.3 spoilers, Gen, I started writing something introspective and ended with this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:01:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26480821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shortcake/pseuds/Shortcake
Summary: Romarique Portelaine, Warrior of Light, breaks himself free from a fit of sulking with the help of his brother. Said brother was not entirely willing.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 7





	The Responsible Use of Magics of Eld

Romarique sat alone in his study. The door was locked with key and ward, and the building hidden through obscurity. For while many wished to know of where their hero came from, he was not one to divulge – not that it was a recognised Eorzean settlement anyway, hidden deep underground among some ‘unexplored’ and ‘undiscovered’ Gelmorran ruins. It was to here that he always fled when he felt fed up with being famous but didn’t overly feel like completely ditching civilisation. To a place where he had family, a few former co-workers who could arguably be described as friends, and a reputation that meant people largely ignored him rather than laud him while he was simply eating lunch.

But even with all that, he still felt the need to hole himself away. The First was safe, Elidibus slain, the Scions home and now counting G’raha among their ranks – really, things couldn’t have gone better in his dreams. It was in that relief, the peace and quiet before yet another inevitable storm, that he found his damnable mind start to wander yet again, to questions he was not equipped to answer.

Not that he hadn’t tried to equip himself. His desk was absolutely covered in books from all arounds Eorzea that contained even the scantest scrap of information on Azeyma. He’d even managed to secure some rather rare writings on Azim in Eorzean from Kugane. If anything though, all the following days of binge-reading had done was leave him feeling even more addled as he struggled to pick apart anything useful from ancient lore.

There was, of course, that one thing that likely held all the answers he could ever dream of.

He was also subtly afraid of the knowledge that it held.

Romarique stretched in his chair, and when that proved to be not enough, he got to his feet and started pacing to iron out the stiffness that resulted from sitting there for however long it had been. As he did so, he picked up the crystal of Azem he’d left displayed prominently on his desk as an unmissable reminder to try to keep his mind on the right track. On paper, it sounded almost irresistibly tempting. A repository of memories of the man his soul had been unsundered? A powerful magic he’d proven he could use? As a studious man, he would love so much to figure out how to pull everything out of it. As the Warrior of Light, and a myriad other titles, he dreamed of all the good he could do with it. As Romarique Portelaine… he wondered whether he would still be Romarique Portelaine were he to successfully pry its secrets.

And so his train of thought derailed yet again into a very familiar distraction from the past few days. It was a worry that had beset him since his first meeting with Hythlodeus in Amaurot. Was he, as Romarique Portelaine, truly just a shade of a long gone man? How much of who he was was _him_ and how much was from his soul? What if _Yvelont_ instead had gotten his soul and he his, how would that have changed them? Or anyone else, really, it was simply pure dumb luck he’d ended up with the soul of someone so noteworthy over any other. After so long of looking at his achievements as something he’d earnt, the idea that it may all be the result of a factor beyond his reach and influence after all, well, it made all he’d gone through feel somewhat hollow.

By that point his mind had drifted so far from where he’d started that he’d forgotten what he was holding as he leaned against the wall and clutched his hands close to his chest. _Azem was singed, haggard, and out of breath, and yet he had a massive grin on his face. They both knew the grapes were just an excuse but—_

“ARGH!”

Romarique’s wandering mind snapped back to the present to find his study lit up by a brilliant golden sigil. On the floor was Yvelont, splayed on his back and looking rather stunned – judging by the cloth and thread in his hand he’d been in his own workspace and likely didn’t appreciate the sudden lack of a chair beneath him. As Yvelont slowly collected his bearings, Romarique quietly looked down at the crystal in his hand before quickly shoving it in a pocket before Yvelont’s mind caught up with his body.

Yvelont propped himself up off the floor, and as soon as the twins’ eyes met they both immediately knew he realised what had just happened.

“Oops,” was all Romarique could say for himself.

“Could you at least _warn_ me before you use me as a test subject for magics of eld?” Yvelont grumbled as he picked himself up from the floor.

“Accident.” That _was_ true, but Romarique was finding that he was having a hard time hiding a massive grin at the realisation that he now had the ability to forcibly pull his brother to his side whenever he damn well felt like. As Romarique’s grin grew bigger, so did Yvelont’s resulting scowl, until scowling alone was no longer enough and he crossed his arms with a huff.

“Give me the crystal,” Yvelont said, staring Romarique down with intensity he usually kept reserved for far worse men.

“No,” Romarique said, fully embracing his grin.

“I don’t trust you with that!”

“Yes.”

Yvelont lunged at his brother, who sidestepped in full expectation that that was what was going to happen. He put his hands in the air, showing off that they were empty, before making a sudden dash for the door. It took a second to unlock, during which time Yvelont made it over. It was a mess of gangly elezen limbs in the doorway as Romarique fought to break free of his brother’s frisking. Eventually, with a firm but not really harmful kick to the gut, Romarique forced Yvelont off of him, half-fell outside the room, and slammed the door shut behind him. He only had a few seconds respite, but that was all he needed, really, because he already knew _exactly_ where he was going to teleport to.

The people who frequented Mor Dhona had long since grown used to the sight of Romarique arriving via aetheryte and immediately sprinting for the Rising Stones, and the Scions within were hardly unused to such sudden arrivals as well. Usually they got an explanation eventually if he hadn’t been called in for duty as a Scion, but Romarique expected at least Alisaie would be able to put the meaning of this particular bout of nonsense together rather quickly. The various people sitting around the foyer – Romarique was too caught up in the moment to note precisely who – barely had time to look up from what they were doing before he pulled out the crystal and the golden summoning sigil appeared on the floor. Yvelont appeared in a blazing pillar of light – this time braced for being unwillingly yanked from where he’d been prior, but by the time the light had fully dissipated Romarique was already sprinting back out the door to Revenant’s Toll.

“ _Romarique!”_ Yvelont shouted and bolted off as suddenly as he’d appeared. He was just fast enough in doing so that Romarique heard him right before he slipped back into the lifestream to go back home.

There were a few moments of silence for Romarique as he lept and bound through the subterranean streets back to his house before his linkpearl went off. He accepted the signal almost as soon as it started beeping – it was precisely what he was hoping to hear, after all.

“ _Romarique!”_ Yvelont’s voice came roaring over the connection. “ _Rom! This isn’t funny! I can’t teleport as much as you can! I told Yloise I’d make dinner tonight! Rom!_ Rom! _Take me home, you gods damned bastard!”_

Somewhere over Yvelont’s furious ranting, Romarique could hear Alisae breaking out into laughter, as well as what sounded like some chuckling from Y’shtola, more to his surprise. He was far from shy about adding his own laughter to the mix as well, which only served in riling Yvelont up even further. Of course he wasn’t going to abandon him in Mor Dhona, but he also wasn’t planning on getting face-to-face with Yvelont again until he’d calmed _slightly_ down. So he not-so-quietly returned to his study where his books lay forgotten, thoroughly enjoying Yvelont’s rantings, though they soon grew somewhat repetitive.

Somewhere in amongst it all, G’raha chimed in to give a talk about responsible use of ancient magic, like _he_ was one to talk.

Eventually, once Yvelont’s ranting had died down to annoyed grumbling, Romarique finally spoke up. “Home?”

“Yes please,” Yvelont said, and Romarique could almost see him sulking just from voice alone. He was certainly doing so once he appeared back in Romarique’s study, arms crossed and whatever unfinished sewing project he’d been working on still held tightly in his hand.

“I’m going to get you back for that, you know,” Yvelont said, staring intently at the stone flooring vaguely near Romrarique’s feet.

“Yes.”

At that, Yvelont pulled his needle from its thread and tossed it somewhere with a loose-wristed flick that disguised the precise direction it flew. “G’luck.”

The deflated sound from Romarique after he was in control for so long was plenty enough to put a smile back on Yvelont’s face.

**Author's Note:**

> I suppose this takes place in roughly the same time period as Betting on the Sun (https://archiveofourown.org/works/25927225), but it's hardly required reading.


End file.
